On the day following the fair the old mill-owner was, as usual, making the round of all the workshops and offices. Many of his employés had been in the town, and there was much gossip about the joke Ferdinand had played upon the neighbourhood. It was said that he had bought up all the dinners at the hotel, and that every nobleman had to bow to him before he could obtain anything to eat or to drink. At first Adler laughed, but when he had reckoned up what this joke was likely to cost him his face became sullen. The vanloads of raw cotton were standing in the courtyard, and were being unloaded by extra hands. Adler looked on for a while, and then proceeded on his round of inspection, giving strict orders that no one was to smoke anywhere. When he turned into his office, he saw two women talking excitedly to the porter; seeing Adler, they ran away. But he paid no attention to them. A clerk, looking strangely unnerved, came running out of the office; the book-keeper, the cashier and his assistant, were talking together in one corner of the room with obvious signs of excitement. At the sight of their chief they quickly returned to their desks, bending low over their books. Even this roused no suspicion in Adler. They had probably been at the fair and were discussing scandal of some sort. In his private office Adler found himself face to face with a stranger. The man was impatient and restless. He was pacing quickly up and down the room. When the mill-owner entered, he stood still and asked, in an embarrassed tone: "Pan Adler?" "Yes; do you wish to see me?" For a while the man was silent. His mouth twitched. The mill-owner looked at him searchingly, trying to guess who he was and what he wanted. He did not look like a candidate for a post at the mill, but rather like a rich young gentleman. "I have an important affair to discuss with you," he said at last. "Perhaps you would rather speak to me at my own house?" said Adler, realizing that with such an excited person it might be better to talk out of earshot of the clerks. He might have some claim on him. The stranger hesitated for a moment, and then spoke quickly: "All right; let us go to the house. I have been there already." "Were you looking for me?" "Yes; because--you see, Pan Adler, we have taken Ferdinand there." The thought of a calamity of any kind was so far from Adler that he asked quite cheerfully: "Was Ferdinand so drunk that you had to bring him home?" "He is wounded," replied the stranger. They were now in front of the house. Adler stopped. "Who is wounded?" he asked. "Ferdinand." The old man did not comprehend. "Has he broken his leg or his neck, or what do you mean?" "It is a bullet wound." "A bullet? How?" "He has had a duel." The mill-owner's red face now flushed the colour of brick. He threw down his hat in the portico and hurried through the open door. He did not ask who had wounded his son. What did that matter?